Now the Memory's on the Wall
by Symbioticdeath
Summary: Guerrero wasn't breaking into Darcy's apartment in Brooklyn. Part 2 of Don't You Worry. Human Target crossover


Guerrero wasn't breaking into Darcy's apartment in Brooklyn.

Not so much breaking in as he planned on surprising her in a good way; not in an "I'm here to discuss an account with you" way. He'd arrived a day early with Mrs. Pucci who'd wanted to be in the city to "get settled in before Firing Range Friday." He jiggled the handle while he turned the small metal pick and smiled to himself when the door swung open. She lived in the upper apartment and Steve lived in the lower one. He knew he'd get the Shovel Talk from Mr. Red, White and Blue.

He closed the door behind him and surveyed the living room. A trio of overstuffed couches sat around a scratched wooden table littered with various items. Guerrero realized among the books and bottles of nail polish were scattered archery supplies. The mercenary studied the walls plastered with posters advertising "The Amazing Hawkeye: World's Greatest Marksman" and with B movie posters featuring classic mass murders and foam monsters.

He inspected the fridge, found a takeout box of lo mein and tucked in as he continued his tour of Darcy's shared apartment. One wall was a bookcase filled with books on almost every subject, the newer tomes covered topics from international policy to sociological theories. A rack of DVDs hung near a top of the line entertainment center.

He found the answer to who lived with her came when he saw the picture frames sprinkled across the bookshelves. Clint "Jackboot" Barton smiled, actually smirked, next to Darcy in several of the pictures; one of them at the zoo, another of them dressed up as SHIELD agents at New York Comic Con. Off to one side of the shelf a single photo not in a frame was propped up against a leather bound book. It'd been taken in Puente Antiguo from a distance of Darcy and Clint sitting on the roof of the old used car dealership. Her in one of those heavy sweaters she liked; him in a leather jacket and between them an IPod with headphone splitter. They were staring out into the desert at something out of frame.

Were he a less than intelligent man he would assume the two were lovers. But here he saw the sort of friendship and loyalty he had for Chance. He almost expected to find a blurry picture of him but he knew Darcy, she respected his avoidance of all things paper trail related. He didn't have any physical pictures of her, when he got the first care package he dredged up her Facebook page and her Twitter.

He tensed his body when he heard someone on the stairs. A key turned in the lock and the door swung open to allow Darcy come through, singed around the edges. Dirt streaked her face, spots of dried blood were all over her clothing and her left eye was red from broken capillaries. She dumped her messenger bag onto a chair near the door. Her hair seemed to be tacky with something while her split lip made him wince in sympathy. He understood the levels of danger her job entailed yet still needed to stamp down the urge to kill whoever touched her.

"Rough day at the office?" Guerreo found his voice. He set the carton of day old takeout on the bookshelf before he went to cross the room to get to her.

"First, I had to drag Cougar out from behind a bomb," Darcy began. She shucked off her jacket. On her right shoulder up her neck sprawled an angry marbled bruise of purple and yellow. "Then I went toe to toe with Aisha Fahdil because she tried to cap Uncle Clay meanwhile my evac nearly missed the drop zone."

"Just another day in paradise," he agreed before he knelt to untie her boots. "Like your place."

"Thanks, Clint did most of the decorating. You're here a day early," she replied and stepped out of the boots gently. She kissed him softly when he stood. "Not that it's not jawesome to see you, I'm just all gross from the mission."

"Mrs. Pucci wanted a day to 'decompress' from Chance's latest misadventure in the office," Guerrero explained. "And I think she's havin' nerves about Firing Range Friday."

"That happens because we're awesome," Darcy agreed. She held onto his shoulder to strip off her socks then moved around him to strip off her pants.

Black panties…cool, dude.

* * *

Darcy ached in places she didn't think existed. It should've shocked her how Guerrero broke into her apartment but she really couldn't bring herself to care. She stripped off her tank top even as her shoulder screamed in protest. Her hair rustled together. She grimaced at the thought of having to wash all the mud out. Aisha shoved them both into a stagnant pit, two bad ass chicks enter and only one bad ass chick leaves.

Darcy was that bad ass chick.

But she'd killed Aisha.

Darcy stopped pushing her bra straps down.

She'd taken a life. She was used to watching Clint and Natasha work and reading the reports about missions SHIELD didn't "go on." It came vastly different when she shoved Aisha onto a jagged metal pipe. The older woman grinning like she'd been proud of Darcy's victory over her before the light faded from her eyes and her body stopped twitching. Coulson tried to prepare her for the moment where she'd need to go into the field. He never covered taking a life.

"Darcy," Guerrero said. "Go shower."

Darcy turned to find the mercenary studying the combined bookshelf, carton of take out in one hand and chopsticks in the other. She'd originally planned to have sexytiems to get rid of the excess adrenaline. It would be hard to concentrate with her mind replaying the entire mission, trying to find the one detail that would've changed everything. He wandered into the kitchen then she heard the lid of the trash can slam shut.

Her body began to remind her it needed hot water to sooth aching muscles and her scalp demanded to be washed free of mud. The former Intern made her way through her room to the full bath Steve and Clint spent a week installing. Clint painted the ceiling blue to recreate the New Mexican night sky with glow in the dark paint. She left the lights on for long periods of time since the building was somehow on Stark's power grid so she could close the blackout drapes to stare at the ceiling. She drew a bath, complete with relaxing bath salts Bruce brought her back from his most recent trip to India; it smelled like oranges. She turned off the lights, stripped off her underthings and climbed into the large tub.

Darcy closed her eyes before she sunk under the water, scrubbed at her skin. The small scratches all over body protested as she cleaned herself. She surfaced enough for her face to be above water. She wasn't supposed to be on the ground or even in South America. Half way to New York, Fury got intelligence on several SNUKES enroute to the main location. SHIELD also dug up information on Aisha hiring mercenaries to eliminate the Losers starting with Uncle Clay and ending with Jake.

She nearly jumped when she felt hands in her hair but her eyes slid open to stare into Guerrero's as he massaged her scalp. He'd rolled up his shirt sleeves and sat on a low stool behind the tub. In place of lust or want, he watched her with concern, a wrinkle between his eyebrows she took as evidence of his worry.

"Walk me through it from when you hit the ground," he said and continued to massage.

"I went to the south side of the compound after dropping in on Carlos to haul his ass out from behind an active bomb," Darcy said. She closed her eyes again not because she wanted to relive the mission but to give in to how good his fingers felt. "Aisha's team rallied there and while Clint cleared the way for me, I got her attention."

Guerrero's hands stopped, descended onto her shoulders to pull her chest above water. Darcy heard the snap of her shampoo bottle's top. He buried his hands back into her hair, lathering the shampoo and going to work on untangling her hair.

"I went shoe shopping with her three months ago and a day ago I pushed her off of me onto a pipe," Darcy said. "I've never killed someone before."

"You'll never get used to it, dude," he answered the question that floated in the forefront of her mind while he guided her down to rinse her hair. "What would've happened if you hadn't killed her?"

"She would've killed Uncle Clay and Jake and Carlos and Pooch," Darcy whispered then made sense of what he meant. "She would've killed me."

Fear sluiced jagged through her.

* * *

Guerrero continued massaging her scalp even after all the shampoo dissipated into the orange scented water, just to reassure himself it was her under his hands whole and alive. She sat up in the tub to wrap her arms around her knees. He got up to retrieve one of the fluffy beyond legal limits towels from the linen closet off the living room. He debated "borrowing" a couple for his place in San Francisco.

When he returned Darcy stood in the center of her bathroom naked. Her body between soft curves left over from her late teens and muscle under soon to be scarred skin. Later he would memorize the feel of her body's transitive time but not now. The freelancer held the towel open for her then wrapped it around her once she stepped into his arms. He walked backwards to lead her into her room then to bed.

"Killin' never comes easy. Chance is the one to say you're givin' away parts of you when you kill," Guerrero began. He yanked back her eye searing purple and green comforter. "But I say if it comes down to it, pick yourself and the people you love every time. Leave the killin' to me from now on, dude."

"I can't have you with me all the time. You'd have to move here or I'd have to move there," Darcy protested but let herself be guided down, towel still wrapped around her, onto soft sheets. "And we haven't been together-"

He put a finger to her lips then wrapped the comforter around her.

"We both know you had me at hello, dude," Guerrero told her. "Figure it out in the mornin'. Get some sleep, Darcy."

"Stay?"

Guerrero toed off his boots then shucked off his button up shirt. He paused for a moment at his belt, warred with his common sense before he pulled it off and placed it on the nightstand. The gun he had tucked at his back followed before he slid off his jeans. She raised an eyebrow at his bull's eye boxer briefs. It'd been a gag gift from Chance on a day around his suspected birthday. He shrugged at her and got into bed, crowding her nearer to the wall. He doubled checked to make damn sure his gun was reachable. Darcy wrapped an arm around his waist; she burrowed her face into the space between his shoulder blades.

In the morning Guerrero would tell her about his plan to make things work. It involved manipulating Mrs. Pucci into coming to Firing Range Fridays every week and tapping Jackboot Barton as well as another spy called the Black Widow for certain cases. He never thought of things too far in advance since his current occupation called for being extremely flexible.

He held her hand in his and placed her palm over his heart.

His fingers on her wrist's pulse point.

Maybe it was love.


End file.
